Opportunity
by AgentRusco
Summary: Wash. Firstperson narration. Sparked by a line in 'War Stories' I think it's good. And funny. One shot.


"Munka's Meat" the sign read. I looked at the place apprehensively, then plunged through the front doors. I made my way to the back where my onetime roommate Jarrad was collecting dishes. He worked here, in this eatery. It wasn't quite so sordid on the inside as is looked from without. But I was sure it only barely scraped by the health inspections.

"So," Jarrad began, "I think you have a job! Uncle Munka says he needs a cook or something. You game?"

"Sure." I nodded, eagerly. "I'm down." I didn't know the first thing about cooking. I knew only how to heat up the packages that were the most common foodstuffs these days. I figured it couldn't be too hard to cook anything. So I followed Jarrad into the kitchen to meet his uncle.

I needed this job because I needed to supplement my meager school existence. My classes themselves where paid for, but a boy's got to eat and, you know, do other things. My prowess as a pilot couldn't get me anywhere without a degree, so I was forced to turn to my friends to set me up with a job. It was harder than I'd ever thought to make a few credits. People didn't hire a fellow unless they knew him, or knew someone to vouch for him.

So Jarrad led me to his uncle Munka. Munka was a very large fellow, both tall and wide. I grinned idiotically up at him and held out my hand. "Wash, sir. Good to meet ya."

He grabbed my hand in a bone-crushing grip and nearly wrung my arm out of its socket. "Ho ho! Wash is it? As in 'wash up for dinner'?" He thought this was very clever.

I forced a smile. "Yes. Just like that."

"So, Wash, Wash, you wanna be a fry-cook?"

"Absolutely, if that's what you need."

"To be sure! You fry well, Wash?"

I assured him that I did indeed. After negotiating a passable salary, he clapped me on the back. Hard. I left with most of my body aching.

I went directly back to my dorm and got the on the cortex. Surely I could find some 'how to' with regards to frying meat. I studied the material I found and was sure that I could do a satisfactory job for my new employer.

The next day I found that frying was certainly harder than my research led me to believe. But somehow I was able to keep up with the orders, however soggy they turned out. I thought my imperfection would go unnoticed when Munka himself came back to see me.

"Wash, Wash," He sighed a wounded sort of sigh. I noted that he liked to say my name twice in a row. "This meat is no good. You know how to fry?"

I made some excuse along the lines of "your fryer is old. I'm not familiar with it yet."

His face split into a massive grin. "Ho ho! So you say. Keep it up then." He clapped me on the back again, before I could dodge. And again I thought sure bones had grated. It was all I could do not to cry out.

I worked at frying badly for several days. I think I was actually starting to get the hang of crisping the strips of processed meat product. I endured bone-crushing affirmation from my boss and the complaints of every single customer who ordered something fried.

But, for the small coin, I kept at it. I wasn't about ready to quit. But in the end, it wasn't my decision. Funny how that always seems to be the case.

Since only one in every dozen orders was fried to standard, I was finally visited by Munka with bad news. He came in with an exceptional grin.

"Wash, Wash, boy, you are wonderful."

I swallowed hard. _Not so much, you mean_. I thought.

"You are losing me business." Munka stated, his smile never wavering. He looked so happy that for a moment I wondered if it was all really a joke. "What do you think I can do about this, eh Wash?"

I shrugged noncommittally. "You could open a market for soggy meat." I said.

He guffawed and I narrowly dodged a swing of his meaty hand.

"Wash, Wash, that is an amazing idea!" He smile wavered just a bit. I wondered if he was actually sorry to have to let me go. "I have found a cook who can fry." He said.

Just like that I was jobless again. I didn't argue with him, just took off my apron and walked back home.

So I had a job. My first one ever. It was the last (and obviously only) job I ever had that did not relate to flying in anyway. And I was fired. From a fry-cook opportunity.


End file.
